


Hunger

by hemingwaysgirl



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Drabble, Drama, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Insecure Tony Stark, Insomnia, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Sort Of, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Steve Rogers Angst, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, To Be Continued, Tony Stark Angst, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Trauma, Whump, Work In Progress, so many feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-03 06:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14562453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemingwaysgirl/pseuds/hemingwaysgirl
Summary: Many people would laugh if they knew that the great Tony Stark was having to relearn the art of eating. It should be as simple as breathing, especially for someone as sharp as him. However, ingesting food was currently proving to be an impossible endeavor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: In this story, Tony Stark's anxiety causes him to develop an eating disorder. He finds it difficult to eat due to his constant state of nervousness. Though his problems don't exactly fit the criteria for anorexia or bulimia, he has symptoms that are similar to both. (I have an anxiety disorder, so I am basically sharing my personal battle through Tony.) Also, a few of his thoughts may border on suicidal. So, keep these things in mind before reading.

Tony Stark braced his hands upon the steel counter, watching with detached fascination as water dripped from the faucet. The soothing rhythm hypnotized him, and for a moment, his mind cleared, releasing him from the ever-present whirlwind of emotions. He allowed himself to free fall into the sweet nothingness - the temporary reprieve helping steady his fluttering heart.

 

He focused on the droplets that kept forming and falling.

 

 _Ping_. He forced air into his lungs.

 

 _Ping... Ping_... _Ping_. He released the breath in a whoosh. 

 

_He could do this._

_Just one bite._

_It's no big deal._

_JUST. DO. IT._

_Come on..._

 

 _Ping._ Inhale.

 

 _Ping _..._ Ping... __Ping _.__ Exhale _._

 

_You need this, okay?_

_OKAY?_

_Stop being a coward._

 

Tony shoved the piece of banana into his mouth and held it there. 

 

_Oh. God. The texture... he couldn't do it._

_"You're pathetic, Anthony. Enough of that sniveling! Stark men are made of iron!"_

_Stop thinking..._

_"Big man in a suit of armor, take that away and what are you?"_

_STOP THINKING..._

_“How ironic, Tony! Trying to rid the world of weapons, you gave it its best one ever!”_

_Chew._

_Breathe In, Breathe Out._

_"You know that's a one-way trip, Stark."_

_Keep chewing. Keep breathing._

_Swallow._

 

The billionaire closed his eyes, battling against the instinctive urge to gag. Miraculously, the slice of banana did not make a reappearance, and Tony sighed in relief. His stomach churned rebelliously, but he swallowed determinedly. He snorted. What would the world think if they could see him now?

 

Tony Stark's capabilities were seemingly infinite. He could passionately decipher and create unbreakable strings of code in a blink of an eye. He could form provable hypotheses from unrelated pieces of data that appear insignificant. However, like most intellects, he often found simple, mundane activities difficult.

 

Many people would laugh if they knew that the great Tony Stark was having to relearn the art of eating. It should be as simple as breathing, especially for someone as sharp as him. However, ingesting food was currently proving to be an impossible endeavor.

 

A lingering nausea had settled in the pit of his stomach after New York - or as he had come to call it: “The Invasion.”

 

He had saved the lives of millions, destroyed a hostile alien race, and lived to tell the tale.  So, at first, he had brushed off the nausea as a result of the adrenaline-fueled battle and almost dying - again. However, as days faded into weeks and weeks bled into months, the uneasiness in his gut remained. The sensation left him feeling detached from reality and trapped in a never-ending spiral of anxiety. Sometimes, he wished the portal had swallowed him up and granted him eternal rest. His world had faded into a dull, depressing hue.

 

The brightest of spring colors had lost their vibrancy as if God had thrown a gray-tinted shield over the atmosphere. Everything looked tainted and bruised - completely stripped of their former beauty.  At times, Tony retreated into his bleeding mind, free-falling from the vastness of space again and again but never hitting the ground. He ached for contact with something solid but solace never came.

 

Hunger gnawed at his insides, increasing the ever-present nausea. He had never separated the two terms in his mind. He had always classified hunger and appetite as synonymous to one another. They were too similar for the distinctions between them to even matter, because who in their right mind couldn’t eat when they were hungry? Well, even geniuses can be proven wrong, and he was finding out that fact the hard way.

 

He needed to eat. Logically, he knew that his current aversion toward food was negatively affecting his mental and physical state. His stomach basically begged for nourishment, grumbling its displeasure frequently. His mind fought valiantly but unsuccessfully against the fogginess that grew denser every day, slowing the pace of his thoughts and ideas. The very scent of food triggered his gag reflex, leaving behind an aching hunger that his body longed to fulfill.

 

He wanted to eat, but he couldn’t.

 

Sure, he forced himself to drink one or two of his special protein shakes a day, but he continued to fade, the pounds dropping from his small frame at an alarming rate. The billionaire’s façade was also crumbling under the weight of his weak body and overloaded mind. He wasn’t sure he would ever enjoy a meal again, much less his empty life.

 

Wide, vacant eyes haunted his dreams. A bloody massacre splattered against a smoky backdrop played out behind his twitching eyelids almost every night. Steve Rogers’ chilling last words as he struggled for air (“You could’ve saved us”) reverberated repeatedly in his head like a damaged record. Otherworldly eyes blinked sluggishly in the shadows, glowing ominously with a merciless dominance.

 

Ironically, after surviving countless battles against villains of this world and beyond, it seemed that he was going to be ultimately destroyed by his own mind.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Despair and terror had become Tony's constant companions since the defeat of Ultron. He had thought creating the advanced AI was the first step toward peace. He had wanted to keep the ones he couldn't stand to lose safe, and the best way to do this from an engineer's perspective was to build a defense system similar to Jarvis – an ally that understood and protected humanity.

 

He imagined a perfect world shielded from international and universal threats. He knew what was out there – he had seen the monsters that lurked behind the peaceful blanket of stars. He knew with an inexplicable certainty that another, larger alien invasion was possible. Paranoia and fear dictated every other positive feeling, leaving his mind exhausted and useless.

 

He missed the predictability of _Before_...

 

Before Ultron, he could easily slip his anxiety behind an iron-clad mask, distracting everyone with a smirk and snarky remark. He attended team dinners regularly, keeping up a steady stream of chatter to hide how little he was eating.

 

Before Ultron. he brushed aside their concern on the rare occasions they noticed his pale features and full plate. He always smiled reassuringly, joking about his overindulgent snacking habits. Everyone believed him. He was really adept at playing the role of the eccentric billionaire. Though Steve's brow had remained furrowed throughout many meals, he never questioned Tony's claims.

 

Accepting lies is always easier than digging for the truth.

 

After he pivoted a missile away from earth and dropped from the sky like a fallen angel, he became a piping hot mess, but he buried most of those feelings and carried on with his life.

 

After he created a sentient being that rivaled Dr. Frankenstein's monster, something inside him snapped, his resolve and control weakening.

 

He missed the person he was _Before_...

 

Afghanistan had changed him for the better and helped him find his purpose. If Obadiah hadn't betrayed him and paid off the Ten Rings to kidnap him, he would've never became Iron Man. Terrorists would've continued to stockpile his weapons and use them to kill innocent people. The blood on his hands would've multiplied tremendously.

 

After Afghanistan and Obadiah's downfall, he vowed to defend the innocent and avenge those who had died. So, no, he didn't want to go back to the selfish and oblivious person he was before the kidnapping.

 

He missed the person he was _Before_ the Invasion, _Before_ Ultron, _Before_ Anxiety had cloaked his soul in darkness.

 

Happiness, Joy, and Hope, along with the majority of the Avengers, had left him. Steve is the only one who stayed behind, but he was like a ghost, drifting in and out of the Tower so quickly that Tony rarely saw him. It didn't really bother him that Steve was avoiding him. It made pretending to be okay so much easier.

 

FRIDAY paused the Queen song blaring through the speakers, effectively cutting through his internal ramblings. “Boss, Captain Rogers has requested you join him for dinner. He said he has prepared your favorite: Spaghetti and meat balls.”

 

Tony jumped, almost dropping his soldering iron. Irrational fear immediately seized his lungs, and the work table fizzled in and out of focus. Just the thought of food made him want to hurl. Everything seemed to fade, and panic enveloped him, until he was aware of nothing but its presence.

 

If he goes, Steve will know how weak he actually is.

 

Tony's thoughts spun in endless circles, a constant loop that tightened the knot in his stomach. _Oh, God. What if I freak out or throw up and then, Steve reports to Fury that I am too unstable to function like a normal human being, and I get kicked off the team? Iron Man is the only good part of me left._

 

Anxiety had swallowed him up, and he was no longer Tony Stark – but an embodiment of worry and gloom.

 

Death would be a kind reprieve from the suffocating spiral of unease twisting his insides. He couldn't focus past the thundering of his heart, and he took shallow breaths, trying to force down the bile rising in his throat.

 

He stumbled over to the trash can in the corner, unable to suppress his gag reflex. The kale smoothie he forced down his throat a couple hours before tasted worse coming back up. He continued heaving after nothing was left, eventually bringing up bile. A cold sweat drenched him, and he felt like he was floating on the brink of consciousness.

 

So, this was his life now – an endless cycle of puking and misery. Why couldn't he get a hold of himself? God, he was pathetic. How can he keep living like this?

 

A slow, melodious guitar riff swept through the room, easing the tense atmosphere and bringing his focus back to his surroundings.

 

“Thanks, Friday,” he muttered, scowling at the tears of appreciation that filled his eyes. Dum-E nudged his hand, and his mouth twitched at the display of affection.

 

“I'm alright,” he grunted, allowing the robot to help ease him upwards. He swayed a bit, but maintained his balance as he staggered back to his stool.

 

“Tell Cap I've already eaten, but thanks for the offer,” he croaked, accepting the glass of water Dum-E held out to him. His hand shook violently, so the helper-bot assisted him in bringing the cup to his lips.

 

“You didn't put motor oil in this again, did you? I'm not like you. My system doesn't need regular infusions of oil to run smoothly.” Dum-E's claw drooped dejectedly.

 

Tony rolled his eyes and took a cautious sip, deeming it safe for consumption.

 

“Good boy,” Tony cooed, running a trembling hand gently down the robot’s spine. Dum-E chirped at the praise.

 

“Boss, Captain Rogers said copious amounts of coffee doesn't count as a meal, so if you don't come down to eat, he'll bring the meal to you.”

 

“Why does that sound like a threat?” he asked, his voice light despite the roaring in his ears and the growing lump in his throat. "I can’t..." 

 

_You're okay._

_You're fine._

_You're okay._

_You're fine._

 

“Boss, I suggest you at least try to consume something of substance. Your blood sugar is low, and you are malnourished and dehydrated. You have been vomiting regularly for weeks. At this rate, you may need to consider intravenous...”

 

Tony looked up sharply. “Okay, okay. I get it. I need to eat. Tell him I'll be there in a half hour."

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I had time to post today, and I'm not completely satisfied with this chapter. I will probably be adding more details later to help it flow more smoothly. Enjoy! :) 
> 
> Thank you to those who commented and/or left kudos. Your support means the world to me!

The breathtaking aroma of Italian spices wafted into the communal living room, and Tony held his breath as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen. The aftertaste of Dramamine lingered on his tongue, and a blanket of fogginess had settled over his brain, halting his racing thoughts.

 

The medication provided temporary relief from the raging storm inside his stomach, but it always turned his mind to sludge.

 

He felt as if he were viewing the world from behind a smoke screen, which made maintaining a sharp sense of awareness almost impossible. For this reason, he rarely allowed himself to cave and take the drug. His greatest weapon against physical and verbal attacks was his analytical mind, so when his usual rapid-fire thought process slowed, he felt vulnerable.

 

A low groan of distress jerked Tony from his reverie, and he blinked slowly, trying to locate the source of the sound. Finally, his eyes focused on Steve's broad figure, and he inhaled sharply at the sight before him.

 

Steve Rogers' powerful form was draped over the stove, his hands braced on the marble counter. He was gulping shallow breaths, his shoulders heaving, obviously trying to compose himself. The spaghetti simmered beneath him, a lid protecting the Italian dish from outside elements.

 

Tony closed the distance between them with long, purposeful strides, gently cupping Steve's bowed neck with trembling fingers. He let his palm rest against tense muscles, squeezing gently while Steve continued to shudder.

 

“Steve?” Tony questioned softly.

 

All at once, as if a switch had been flipped, Steve tensed and the quaking stopped. He raised his head, causing Tony's hand to slip. A long, slow breath passed through his diaphragm as he straightened. Steve lifted a surprisingly delicate hand to roughly sweep over his eyes and mouth, an action that Tony had perfected over the years to hide any visible traces of vulnerability.

 

The super soldier turned so quickly that the billionaire had to grip his arm to keep from toppling over. Steve scrambled away from him, as if his touch had burned him. Sweat gathered beneath Tony's various layers of clothing, which consisted of a t-shirt, sweatshirt, and a loose-fitting hoodie. Wearing so many clothes was uncomfortable, but it effectively hid his emaciated form.

 

A gasp escaped Tony's mouth as he studied the stoic expression resting comfortably on Steve's face. His azure eyes were clear and bright, and they darted away from Tony, focusing on a point above the billionaire's shoulder. Any evidence of his imminent breakdown had disappeared as if it had never existed.

 

“Tony! You're early! I wasn't expecting you for another 15 minutes!” Steve blurted, his smile wild and dripping with false cheer.

 

Tony's eyes widened, but he quickly schooled his expression. Alarm slammed against his chest like a jackhammer, and his head swam. Nausea swept through the confines of his empty stomach – his appetite once again disappearing as he continued to stare at the man before him. He swallowed to alleviate the dryness in his throat. “You okay, Cap?” he asked, his voice unusually timid.

 

Steve self-consciously ran a hand through his blonde hair – the strands standing up in various places and looking distinctly greasy. Tony narrowed his eyes. _Since when did Captain America – the epitome of perfection – not shower?_

 

“What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just haven't been sleeping much. You know how it is,” Steve replied, a finger waving through the air, outlining the bruises underneath Tony's eyes. He refused to meet the engineer's unwavering gaze.

 

“Yeah, I do, Cap. And I also know that you are far from okay. I mean, if this is your definition of fine, I'd hate to see what you would classify as 'not fine',” Tony drawled, wincing at the sarcasm lacing his voice.

 

“Please, call me, Steve, okay? I'm not Cap. Not right now,” he pleaded softly.

 

Tony's gaze softened, his chocolate eyes glimmering with understanding. “Steve, did something happen? I've never seen you so...” He paused, gesturing vaguely at Steve's scruffy jaw, rumpled t-shirt and stained jeans. “...not put together.”

 

“I'm fi...” At Tony's glare, he corrected himself. “Okay, I've had a really shitty week, and I didn't want to eat alone.”

 

Tony blinked for half a minute – the raw honesty stunning him beyond speech. When he finally spoke again, his voice was tinged with amusement. “Watch your language, Steve. There is a lady present. FRIDAY is very sensitive and does not appreciate crude talk.”

 

“Boss, need I remind you of last week when Dum-E doused your roadster in fire-extinguishing foam, because he mistook the flame on the side for an actual fire?”

 

“Okay, I may have let a few inappropriate words slip...”

 

“Try 15, Boss,” Friday corrected smugly.

 

Steve chuckled, earning him a playful glare from the billionaire.

 

“But he ruined the new paint job! I had a right to be upset,” Tony whined, pouting profusely.

 

Steve dissolved into a fit of laughter, doubling over from the force of it. Soon, the hearty gasps tapered off into desperate sobs. He turned away from Tony, leaning heavily against the counter.

 

“I messed up, Tony. I messed up so badly. I just wanted him back, and I didn't know that he had killed them – not at first. I just knew Hydra was involved,” Steve confessed. He moaned in anguish as the words continued to tumble from his mouth.

 

“And then, I did know, but it wasn't his fault – Hydra was controlling him. So, I couldn't tell you – I couldn't hurt you like that. I didn't want to worsen your pain – I didn't want you to have to grieve for them all over again. Because knowing what I know will make the pain worse – probably unbearable." The super soldier swallowed thickly, shielding his bloodshot eyes with a shaky hand. "He was my best friend. And now, I've lost him – he's gone, Tony, and he's never coming back.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short, but the next update should be longer. Thanks again to those who left kudos and reviews. No words can describe how much I appreciate the continued support. I love you all! :)

The steady buzzing in Tony's ears intensified until it drowned out Steve's concerned voice. The words “he... killed them,” “my best friend,” and “grieve for them all over again” kept looping around his brain in an endless repetitive cycle.

 

Now, Tony was a genius, but even average thinkers could deduce a plausible hypothesis from the jumble of words spewing from Steve's mouth.

 

Tony mentally jotted down certain facts that he had accumulated from Steve and other reputable sources over the years, including what he had learned mere minutes ago.

 

  1.  James ("Bucky") Barnes was Steve's best friend and aided him in bringing down Hydra in the 1940's.

  2. Their efforts had proven fruitless, and Hydra continued to thrive undetected. Note Hydra's motto: “If a head is cut off, two more shall take its place."

  3. Recently it was discovered that Hydra supporters masquerading as Shield agents have been gathering Intel about the organization for years. Shield has rotted from the inside out.

  4. According to Steve, Hydra had tried to recreate the super-soldier serum and Bucky had endured torturous experiments after being injected with the resulting prototype. Naturally, Captain America had rescued him. However, during their daring escape, they were attacked and Bucky plunged to his death, though his body was never recovered. 

  5. Hydra had kidnapped Bucky once, which means the psychotic scientists would have continued with the experiments if he had somehow survived and they had found him.

    1. Follow up: Steve's best friend killed someone while under the control of Hydra. Apparently, the group forced Bucky to carry out the act. (Did they use some type of brainwashing technique?) Note: Research government databases for military mind control weapons/tactics (keyword: Hydra). Hold on, Bucky must have killed more than one person. (Steve kept saying _them._ )

    2. Follow up: The victims are tied to me somehow. According to Steve, I have already grieved for them once and a recently uncovered fact will reawaken and intensify my grief. I've only lost one person whom Hydra may have seen as a threat, but if **she** witnessed his death (which **she** did, because **she** was with him in the car), the terrorists would have eliminated **her** as well.

  6. Conclusion: My parents were murdered by Captain America's best friend. Barnes killed my mother. He (under Hydra's instruction) must have staged the car accident and then assassinated my mom and dad.




 

_Oh God._

 

 

_No._

 

 

_No_. _no_. _no_. 

 

 

_This is another nightmare._

 

 

_I'm dreaming. I just have to wake up._

 

 

_This isn't real._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave kudos if you enjoyed the story so far. Also, comment and let me know what you think. :)


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